Malbec, and then some.

As we crested the majestic Andes the final time and began our descent into the famed Mendoza wine region, I exhaled and let my muscles slacken. We had survived the harrowing journey from Chile to Argentina, overland, via a small and rickety passenger bus. No A/C. Hot winds ripped the air as a reminder of our vulnerability to the elements. The topography had seemingly leveled out and all the physiological signals of my body convinced me that on this day, the mountains would not claim us. As the palpable energy of the vehicle sunk into peace, my eyes gripped the landscape. I was looking for grapes. 

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Coming of Age: Mile High Wine

Earlier this month I had the privilege of traveling back to Denver for some work stuff and thankfully got to add a few days for some social stuff. I lived in Denver from 2008-2012, and though I was by most standards already “grown”, I still think of it as a place in which some formative “growing up” occurred for me. It was the first time in all my life that I truly lived alone. No roommates, partner or family members. Just me. I would sometimes walk down the street in my beguiling first neighborhood of Cheesman Park, giggling to myself, tickled that I actually lived there, in my own stately apartment within the red bricked exterior of The Bentley. As a wine lover living alone, one has to get comfortable very quickly with the notion of “drinking alone”.  With the lore of a haunted neighborhood and being a single young woman living on her own, it was not a hard sell. Wine and I became very intimate during the Denver years.

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